Brenda vs. The Bookcase: A Flat-Pack Fiasco

Brenda considered the flat-pack instructions with the intensity of a cryptographer decoding an ancient scroll. 'Part A-1 connects to B-3 with cam lock 7a,' it stated. Brenda, however, had already discovered cam lock 7a was excellent at ricocheting off her forehead. Also, B-3 was suspiciously identical to A-1, B-2, and possibly her left foot. Three hours, one minor splinter, and an alarming number of discarded Allen wrenches later, she had triumphantly erected... something. It was vaguely rectangular, if rectangles were allowed to defy Euclidean geometry, and possessed a jaunty lean that suggested a rebellious spirit. The 'back panel,' a piece of glorified cardboard, fluttered in a breeze that didn't exist, attached only by sheer willpower and a prayer. Her cat, Chairman Meow, watched the entire spectacle from atop a pile of bubble wrap, occasionally batting at a rogue dowel with the air of a highly paid art critic. 'It's abstract,' Brenda declared, wiping sawdust from her brow. 'A post-modern deconstruction of "bookcase." Very minimalist, very... unstable.' Chairman Meow blinked slowly, then gave a disdainful sniff, clearly preferring a solid, well-built cardboard box.